Kern couldn’t help but marvel at the beautiful mage’s voice. It was rich and smoky. Even simple words seemed musical when she spoke them.
“How do you know?”
“Can’t you feel it?” A look of surprise crossed her face. Then she laughed. “I’m sorry. Of course you can’t. Sometimes I forget that not everyone grew up a wizard in the wilderness.” She scanned the placid surface of the Moonsea. The water and the sky were the same dull shade of gray, so that it was impossible to tell where the two met on the horizon. “I can sense the storm approaching. It’s like …” She searched for the right words. “It’s like a power in the air.” She turned her gaze on Kern. “An energy I can feel tingling against my skin. Right now a few snowflakes whirl by, but by evening snow will blanket the land. However, the storm will be less severe farther from the Moonsea. We may care to ride a few leagues inland.”
“If you think we should,” Kern agreed. “Let’s confer with Miltiades.”
“It is your quest, Kern,” the undead paladin said from the back of his white mount. “We will do as you see fit.”
Kern swallowed hard. He had naturally assumed that Miltiades would act as the group’s leader. Apparently that was not to be so. He drew a deep breath. He hadn’t expected to be giving orders to a legendary hero like the paladin.
Sirana turned toward Listle, who was riding bareback nearby. “What do think?” the wild mage asked the elf. “As a sorceress, I’m certain you can feel the storm coming as well as I.”
“Of course,” Listle lied, gritting her teeth. Oh, she wished she could wipe that smug look off the wild mage’s pretty face. They weren’t even halfway through the first day, and Sirana already had Kern wrapped neatly around her little finger.
“Good,” Sirana smiled. “Shall we ride inland then?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Listle replied, her voice dripping honey. “I’m rather fond of getting caught in blizzards, sinking into deep snowdrifts, and freezing perfectly solid. Aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m not certain now,” Sirana said without a trace of sarcasm. “You make it sound so pleasant.”
Listle glared at her, then wheeled her horse away from the frozen edge of the Moonsea, heading inland.
Kern shook his head as he rode after the elf and the wild mage. “Something tells me this is going to be a long journey,” he muttered to no one in particular.
“Look at this.” Daile knelt in the leafy litter of the forest floor. She brushed away bits of dry, crackling bracken to reveal a single hoofprint pressed into a small patch of cold mud.
Gamaliel crouched beside her. The great cat had assumed his barbarian form this morning, as he usually did when he traveled with humans other than just Evaine.
“There was a hard frost last night,” Daile went on. “This damp spot couldn’t have melted until well after dawn. I’d say this track is no more than a quarter hour old.”
Gamaliel nodded, his chiseled face intent. “Red deer. A young buck, I would guess. Two points. Perhaps three. Still fat this early in winter.”
Daile stood swiftly, the morning sunlight weaving strands of fire through her short red-gold hair. With practiced ease she strung her polished ashwood bow. It gave a faint, musical hum of anticipation. She looked excitedly at Gamaliel.
“Let’s go.”
The two moved easily among the gray, leafless trees, Daile every bit as silent as the lean and powerful barbarian. She cleared her mind of all thoughts, letting the sights, sounds, and scents of the forest soak into her being. Caught up as she was in the hunt, she did not notice the quiet look of approval Gamaliel bestowed on her.
She is skilled for one so young, Gamaliel thought. She tries to be part of the forest, rather than master of it. His earlier suspicions were confirmed. Yes, he decided, she possesses the wild gift. She hears the voice of the wind.
Daile pushed her way through a tangle of branches and found herself looking into a small glade. She froze.
The buck was beautiful.
He stood at the edge of a pond, bending his head to drink from a hole in the ice that he had made with a fore-hoof. His coat was the color of dried leaves, and he had not yet shed his antlers. Each bore three curving points.
She turned to warn Gamaliel to be silent, but the barbarian had disappeared. He must be close behind, she thought, but she couldn’t wait for him to catch up. The wind was unpredictable; the buck might sense her presence any second. She nocked an arrow and carefully raised her bow.
Too late.
The buck’s head sprang up, diamond-clear droplets spraying from his muzzle. His deep brown eyes widened, velvety nostrils flaring. He had caught her scent. Before she could draw and release her arrow, the buck bounded toward the opposite edge of the clearing and the safety of the trees. Daile started to lower her bow in disappointment.
Suddenly the forest air was riven by a snarling cry.
A lithe, tawny shape leaped out of the forest, ivory white fangs bared.
The buck whirled abruptly at this new, more palpable terror. Its hooves skidded on the ice at the pond’s edge as it tried to flee back across the glade—back into the range of Daile’s weapon. She did not waste this second chance.
“Let it be swift, bow,” she whispered. She released the red-feathered arrow.
The arrow’s flight was true, piercing the buck’s wildly beating heart. The animal collapsed instantly to the ground.
Daile lowered her bow, her blood pounding in exhilaration.
“Good timing,” she said to the great cat padding leisurely across the clearing.
The cat’s form shimmered brightly.
“Thank you,” Gamaliel said gruffly, human once again.
The two butchered the buck with quick, practiced strokes. Though the deer was a magnificent creature, Daile had no regrets about slaying it. The venison would sustain her and her father on their journey back to the Valley of the Falls, and they could leave plenty behind for Gamaliel and Evaine. The buck’s hide would not be wasted either. Daile intended to tan it and make a new pair of boots for her father. Death was as much a part of the forest as the constant spectacle of life, Daile well knew.
They wrapped the venison in the deer’s hide and started back toward Evaine and Gamaliel’s home. Ren and the sorceress would be waiting for them.
Yesterday, Evaine had tapped into Ren’s memories of the Dragonspine Mountains in order to conjure a magical map of the region. She would be able to use the map in conjunction with her spells to help locate the pool she and Shal had sensed in the mountains. Not that she would be able to journey there any time soon. The sorceress was still greatly weakened from her recent ordeal. She could hardly get out of bed, let alone begin a winter’s journey into the perilous Dragonspine Mountains.
The two hunters were nearly to Evaine’s dwelling when they heard the shouting of voices interspersed with the clash of steel. Sounds of fighting.
Daile shot Gamaliel a worried look. Instantly the barbarian vanished, the great cat loping swiftly down the footpath in his place. Gripping her bow, Daile sprinted after him.
She burst from the shadows of the forest a second behind Gamaliel, only to be greeted by a rather strange sight: four people were being attacked by a hedge of thornbushes.
It was the sort of thing that could happen only in the vicinity of a wizard’s dwelling. Evaine had mentioned that the hedge surrounding her clearing served to keep intruders out, but Daile hadn’t imagined anything quite like this. A dozen bushes had uprooted themselves from the ground and now circled menacingly around four strangers, lashing out with branches bearing long, sharp barbs.
Two of the strangers were well protected by their shining armor, but the other two—young women both—bled from several scratches on their arms. All were doing their best to hold the enchanted brambles at bay.
“I cannot dispel the magic that animates them!” cried one of the women. She was clad in a flowing white robe, now rent and torn in several places. “The wizard who crea
ted them must be strong indeed.”
Fire fanned out from the second woman’s outstretched fingers, but did not so much as singe the bushes. “I’ve heard of the expression ‘a thorn in my side,’ but this is ridiculous,” the mage—an elf, Daile could see by her delicate, pointed ears—said with a frown.
“Take that!” one of the armored knights shouted, swinging a strangely mottled warhammer at one of the bushes. Branches snapped and splinters flew as the bush toppled to the ground. At the same time, another bush snaked out a sinuous branch to wrap around the hammer-wielding stranger’s ankles, intent on dragging him to the ground. But the moment the branch touched the knight, it was instantly transformed into sticky blue cobwebs. The magical bush shuddered and contracted.
The knight spun around to attack another thornbush. Only then did Daile catch a glimpse of his face. She gasped in astonishment.
“Kern!” she cried out.
The strangers halted momentarily in their fighting, looking up at Daile and Gamaliel in surprise.
Daile hadn’t seen the young man in many years, not since he visited the Valley of the Falls with his parents one summer, but she could never have mistaken him. It was Kern Desanea, son of her father’s close friends, Tarl and Shal of the city of Phlan.
“Gamaliel, can you call off Evaine’s defenses?” she asked desperately.
The great cat shifted back into his barbarian form and regarded her for a scant second before nodding. “Surrahk!” he cried. Immediately, the thornbushes shuffled obediently back to the hedge, sinking their roots into the soil once more. They quivered briefly, then were still.
The four wanderers lowered their weapons gratefully.
Kern’s eyebrows knit themselves in concentration. “Daile?” he asked tentatively.
She laughed in answer, throwing her arms around him in a joyous embrace. He returned the gesture warmly.
“Daile, what are you doing here?” he asked, taking a step back to look at Daile.
“Saving you, it would seem,” she laughed. “It’s a good thing we came along when we did. I’d hate to be the one to have to tell Tarl and Shal that their son was beaten in battle by a rosebush.”
“At least they wouldn’t have to send flowers to the funeral,” Listle added with a snort. The young paladin-aspirant shot the elven mage an annoyed glance.
Kern’s armored companion stepped forward then, raising a gauntleted hand.
“It has been some time, Gamaliel.”
The knight’s voice carried a tinny echo that made Daile’s heart skip a beat in her chest.
“It has indeed, Miltiades,” Gamaliel answered, a rare look of wonderment crossing the usually stoic face of the barbarian. “Evaine will be pleased to see you again, as am I.”
Slowly the knight raised the visor of his ornate helm.
Daile clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. It wasn’t the face of a man she found herself staring at, but instead a hollow-eyed skull wearing a perpetual, lipless grin.
“Don’t worry,” the silver-eyed elf whispered to Daile with a conspiratorial wink. “He’s much friendlier than he looks.”
Daile could only nod, hoping the elf was right.
Evaine had forgotten just how much she liked Miltiades. The travelers found her sitting by the hearth, wrapped in a soft patchwork quilt. To her delight, Miltiades knelt before her and bowed his head.
“It is good to lay sight on you once again, fair sorceress,” he intoned.
She clapped her hands together, laughing aloud for the first time since her fateful spirit journey with Shal. Momentarily, color stole back into her pale cheeks. “Nobody calls me ‘fair sorceress,’ Miltiades,” she gently chastised the paladin.
“Then they do you a disservice, my lady,” he said quite seriously.
Listle leaned close to Kern. “You know, you could probably take a few lessons in gallantry from Miltiades,” she whispered.
“I’m gallant!” he whispered back defensively.
“If you say so.”
There followed a great deal of catching up between old friends, as well as a fair number of introductions among new. Much to Kern’s chagrin, Listle and Daile took an instant liking to each other. In moments, they were whispering and giggling, casting glances in his direction. The gods only knew what they were talking about, Kern grumped to himself. Two against one was entirely unfair.
Ren’s booming laughter soon filled the sorceress’s house. Like Daile, Evaine had noticed that the two years since Ciela’s death had not been kind to the ranger. But the arrival of their old friend Miltiades brought some youthful animation to Ren’s bearded face. For that, Evaine was grateful.
While the others talked, Sirana wandered about the wood-paneled main room, idly examining curious sculptures and old, gilt-edged books, just as any guest might. But Evaine had the peculiar feeling that Sirana’s actions were not quite as offhand as they seemed. It was as if she was surveying the room, trying to calculate Evaine’s power as a sorceress from the objects she possessed. Evaine decided to keep an eye on the beautiful wild mage.
However, Evaine had something more important to be concerned with for the present.
She found Kern in a small, sunlit side room.
“I figured that if I wasn’t in plain view, Listle and Daile might not have such a good time talking about me,” he explained a bit sheepishly.
Evaine, sitting in a chair opposite Kern, smiled. There was something unassuming yet compelling about the handsome young man. Evaine was quiet for a moment, gathering her strength for the question she knew she had to ask.
“Tell me, Kern, how is Shal?” she said finally.
Kern swallowed hard. “Well, she’s alive.”
Evaine let out a deep breath of relief, closing her eyes for a moment.
“But just barely,” Kern went on. “She hasn’t woken, Evaine, not since that … journey you two undertook. I don’t know what happened during the spell—I don’t really even understand what it was you two were trying to do—but ever since that day, Mother just lies there, growing paler and thinner.”
Evaine shook her head. That the wizard of Denlor’s Tower lived still was no minor miracle and was in itself a great testament to a strong spirit. The attack of the pool’s guardian had left Evaine feeling sapped of all strength. Even now, nearly a tenday later, her joints still throbbed, and dark circles lingered under her eyes. Yesterday, she had attempted to light a candle with a routine incantation and had fainted from the excruciating pain that had surged through her body.
“We are lucky Shal is still with us,” Evaine said, glad for the warm winter sunlight streaming through the window-panes. “You have a very dangerous enemy, Kern Desanea.”
“I know.” His shoulders slumped slightly, a troubled look crossing his broad face. “I … I hope the journey the two of you took wasn’t for nothing.”
“It wasn’t,” Evaine said firmly. “Don’t think that Shal would do anything differently if she was given a second chance, Kern. She knew the risks involved when she agreed to the spirit journey, and she accepted them. Shal was prepared to live or die with the consequences of her actions.” She gazed at Kern intently. “You must accept risks that are no less dangerous.”
The young paladin stared at her. “I will do my best,” he managed to say.
“Good,” was Evaine’s only reply.
Night descended swiftly this time of year, and it was already dark outside when everybody gathered around the oaken table in the comfortably cluttered main room.
“Shal and I made some important discoveries on our spirit journey,” Evaine began. She clasped a mug of fragrant rose-hip tea in her hands. “First of all, whoever he may be, Kern’s antagonist is not allied with the evil force that is warding Tyr’s hammer in the ruins of the red tower. Instead, I think it’s quite likely your enemy hopes to use you to obtain the hammer, Kern.”
“Me?” Kern asked, picking at his bowl of venison stew.
“You have been ordained by Tyr to
seek the hammer,” Miltiades said in his reverberating voice. “And you are the only one who may lift the hammer from its hiding place. Since the attempt to abduct you failed at the temple, it seems likely this foe now intends to wait until you have acquired the relic before striking again.”
Evaine sipped her tea, nodding. The paladin’s reasoning made sense.
“How can you be so certain you’re right?” Sirana asked the undead paladin. It was not lost on Listle that Sirana had shifted her chair closer to Kern’s, so her arm brushed his slightly every time she moved. “Why wouldn’t this elusive enemy try to abduct Kern again on the way to the red tower?”
“And pin his hopes on a tactic that has already failed once?” Listle asked with a bit more vitriol than intended.
“I see,” was all Sirana said.
“Let’s move on,” Evaine said with a disapproving frown at both Sirana and Listle. “Shal and I made another discovery on our journey, one that should concern us even more. Kern’s enemy has apparently allied himself with a creature guarding a magical pool in the Dragonspine Mountains. Pools contain enormous and perilous amounts of power—that’s something I know about firsthand, as do Ren and Miltiades. That means our enemy has a considerable advantage. What’s more, this pool is like none I’ve ever encountered before. There is something very primordial about its power. I think it’s quite possible that this pool is older—older by far—than the others I’ve destroyed.”
“ ‘For awaiting them still is the twilight pool’s shadowed guardian,’ ” Kern murmured. Evaine arched a single eyebrow, regarding him curiously. “It’s the last line of Bane’s prophecy concerning the hammer,” he explained.
“ ‘The twilight pool,’ ” Evaine repeated. “Never in all my studies have I come across any mention of a pool of twilight.” The sorceress shrugged. “Well, one thing seems clear enough. If you find the Hammer of Tyr, Kern, don’t plan on taking a rest right away. Be ready for another attack, and a powerful one. You can be sure it will come—and when you’re at your weakest.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Kern said with understandably little enthusiasm.
Pool of Twilight Page 13